I want to base jump right now, so much.

(I think its partly missing the adrenaline, but also partly a question, one that says that maybe I’ve lost my edge. A big “do I still have it in me?”)

“And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Today I really miss that hair-raising, heart-racing, goosebumps, icy-knot-of-fear sinking feeling while you look down into the abyss right before you will yourself to leap.

And then all that fear turns to joy. It’s an intense feeling, and there are a few moments right in the middle of it when you’re not thinking about the leap or the landing: you’re just in perfect harmony with the universe.

There are few things like that in life. I happen to have been blessed enough to have found two. Jumping off of really high things with only some stainless steel and ballistic nylon holding me to the here and now and creating something from nothing.


Sometimes life is just going to make you feel like you’ve been kicked in the pants, and conversely sometimes like you’ve got jet engines strapped to your shoes, tonight:

I just had a chest pain that made my left ear hurt. I was unaware that such a thing was possible. Although honestly I don’t know if pain is the right word: it was more of a chilly, sinking sensation; one that rolled outward from my heart, making my stomach drop as though I were in free fall, then flowing back upward, in cold waves that radiated through my core.

It was mildly distressing.

Ah well, a part of the human experience is certainly that you will feel odd sensations now and then. I’ll leave sorting it out for later, since I’m not quite certain how I’m feeling right now, nor why or even what (if anything) it means.

Suffice to say; I’m tired and I have to be up in 4 hours for work.

I have an odd sense that my blog is going to become more chit-chat/less conversation for a bit.

Sweet dreams.

Egocracy of Eloquence

I am a(n) (ego-)driven guy.

Sounds familiar. Most males are, well males from western cultures are anyway. I personally think thats it’s a combination of nature and nurture. And the fact that testosterone does odd things to us. Of course so does the individualistic society into which we are indoctrinated, so sorry: enculturated.

My personal experience with nurture being that of a community of special forces alpha-dogs probably didn’t help: they tend to believe that spec-ops guys are the supreme creation of the universe and each one of them thinks he’s better than all the rest.

Growing up within such a tight knit, if slightly insane, group at a series of Fort Wherever’s brought a whole new meaning to the ‘my dad can beat up your dad’ spiel, it did however encourage the growth of my vocabulary and it definitely built a lot of self-confidence, I’ll give it that.

All argument aside: I know that I can be arrogant, I know that I have a healthy ego, albeit one that can get away from me; especially when we’re talking about one of the ten or twelve things that I do best. Its never really about the idea that I’m better than the person I happen to be speaking to; I get genuinely excited about things I’m good at and I tend not to realize when I’m being arrogant about something that comes very easily to me and that others have to work at. Which, unfortunately means I come off rather badly at times.

There are remedies, or so I’ve been led to believe. You may remember that there was a fairy tale princess that needed some rescuing; as it turns out, she does a bit of rescuing herself, ya know-on the side. The moral of that fable being this: I’ve been courting this theory of modesty lately and I’ve got to say it’s a been (and will continue to be) a difficult transition: I feel incredibly self-conscious when I try to be modest, like I’ve got this really expensive new jacket on and it looks really great but everyone knows that the coat just isn’t mine.

For the first time in my life I am actually much more concerned with how someone else feels about me, than I am about how I feel about me.

I’m sure I’ll get used to it. It is, of course (what isn’t?), a process. At any rate I’m sure that my new humble sport jacket is just the right thing to wear to all this summer’s ritzy events.

I enjoy metaphor. Clearly.

Speaking of, chapter eighteen is coming along well/well it’s coming along*.


This is one of those awesome posts that I’ve cut into pieces over the course of a couple of days. I find that my favorite thing about my wordpress app is *save draft. It assuredly gives me the freedom to gain some perspective without losing the moment. I appreciate that greatly.

Normally I’d say keep it real here, but I think that its time to retire that particular valediction. And while normally I’d express utter disbelief if someone were unaware that the polite bits that bookend a letter are a salutation and valediction, today in honor of my attempt at leaf-turning I’ll merely allude to the fact that I could have.

Today I believe that I’ll simply say:
❤ ry

(Someone help me figure out something fun/cool/super-arrogant-sounding-but-not-belittling to say after my posts, merci.)

Pretty Freakin Ninja

Ninja Assassin is all sorts of awesome. Especially the performance of (Korean pop star) Rain, I’m not a huge fan of his music, but he’s not a bad actor by any standard and he’s a more-than-passable martial artist.

Plus, I freakin love ninjas.

Other ninja movies just don’t do the super badass ninja justice: this one makes them into super villains without peer.

And Rain isn’t just one of these insanely kick-ass ninja assassins he’s a ninja assassin…yeah he’s the guy who kills the most lethal badasses ever, and he fights a lot of them all at once, all by his onesies.


(Yeah it sounds kinda familiar to me too.)

I’m enamored, and incredibly jealous that I wasn’t kidnapped as a toddler by one of the nine clans and taught the way of the shadow warrior.

Just sayin.


I dream while awake, ephemeral; the ghost of your touch on my face.



I run.

Expecting something super deep and eloquent like iWrite? Yeah, with the running it’s more of a “curro ergo sum” kinda thing.

Basically I love to run, which is evident if you know me. I’ve got a few things I love, I mean really love, about my life:

Running has become one of them. I used to hate running. I played sports in which running was a punishment, so it was always negative reinforcement. It has been a personal triumph to turn a negative into a positive. I’d like to be able to do that in all aspects of my life.

There are so many things I would like to make more positive, for example: (most) interactions with others, I tend to put up walls, make people stand off at arms length. I seem to automatically push people out to a comfortable distance, by comfortable distance I mean that I build an image in my mind, an image of a stronger, more confident, smarter, more arrogant version of myself and then cram my psyche into that image and pretend that I am him. It’s a defense mechanism; it makes most people kind of dislike me, which in turn makes them not want to get to know me, which keeps them out at a safe distance from me.

If they are in an outer orbit they can’t crash into you: in my head I see that dinosaur-killing asteroid (everyone I know), all jagged and Texas-sized, careening toward earth (me), picking up speed and starting to glow as it melts from the friction in my atmosphere…and then boom. Someone new to break off a piece of my heart and take it with them when they leave.

I try very hard not to go to that place anymore, being a whole human being is work. I do try. But it’s a process and i fear that I’ll always be a work in progress. I do feel a small sense of triumph at being able to recognize some of my flaws and a larger sense of accomplishment when I actively try to correct them.

And full circle as it relates to running: things like the preceding are what I think about when I run.

Keep it real kids,
❤ ry


I write. Sometimes beautiful things, words placed so evidently eloquently, whispering sweet nothings in your mind; in my voice. Words that barely convey the lyrics in my heart but filtered as they are through two they become one with a love that is all-encompassing and infinite and yet somehow still contained by this finite, earthly shell.

I write. Sometimes with a quickening sadness; bitter experience flowing down the page like water, like an avalanche of pain running down a mountain: each successive word becoming a phrase to frame a refrain of sanity-saving verses; to flush out of hiding those (personal) demons that hunt for my soul in the dark recesses of my mind.

I write. I write words that make emotions apparent, transparent, so very clear and open. Sometimes I find redemption in words, sometimes I find that I atone for every action wrought from anger or pain that I’ve ever thought of or placed upon this world.

I write. I write because I enjoy placing words in front, in back, around and inside of other words to form ideas; to hopefully make some sense of me. Conceptually I enjoy the exercise of sentences, paragraphs and sections; chapters, books, chronicles; series becoming stories becoming (his)story.

I write. Not only do I write because I love to play with language(s): I write because inside of me is a driving force, a primal need; something shimmering-stirring (is it darkness or is it light) that aches to break free the bonds of my mind to speak to the world.

I write. I write, simply because I must.

Keep it real kids,
❤ ry


The new Hollywood Undead album American Tragedy is pretty sweet. Of course I’ve grown up listening to that curious amalgamate that is rap-metal. In other news I’ve always thought that they could have come up with a better name than that.

Hmmm maybe like rapetal, or maybe metap hahaha whatever they call it I still rather enjoy it. Perhaps because I can’t really sing either and it allows me to keep a career as a rapetal artist on my list.

Yes, I am writing about the most mundane things I can think of. No, I’m not avoiding anything. Where are these questions coming from?

Anyway I’m thinking of shaving off my douchey beard. Almost every author has a sweet beard in his bio-pic on the inside back cover of the dust jacket. However, my irishness does not allow me to grow an awesome beard.

There, something I’m not awesome at: facial hair fail.

Keep it real kids,
❤ ry

Prolific and Gifted

I rather enjoy that title, it’s actually a Method Man quote. I do love me some Wu.

Well, Public Enemies was a little more dramatic than it needed to be, and I’m still a little annoyed at the g-men who shot Dillinger in the back. I mean seriously, what a bunch of giant pansies. Can you say premeditated? I wish I’d been alive and a lawyer back then because that was a serious breach of both Dillinger’s civil rights and an example of the very loose interpretation our Government has of the social contract. Just sayin.

Ah on to other things, today I think I may run until exhaustion fells me in my footsteps. It is a glorious part of the human condition (at least for me) that when I’m physically exhausted, my brain does not function. It’s part of why the military runs you so hard in bootcamp: break down the old so they can build up the new.

I rather like that idea. I’m not a fan of the old me and I enjoy the idea of building something glorious from the broken moldings and strewn bricks he has left me to create a foundation with.

I also still feel incredibly pretentious referring to myself in the third person.

I wish many things. But I’ll share this one: I wish I wrote novels as fast as blog posts.

Keep it real kids,
❤ ry